


to love and to be loved

by orphan_account



Category: Marvel
Genre: Character Study, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-12
Updated: 2020-02-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:09:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22680745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: to love is not the same as to be loved
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 22
Kudos: 114





	to love and to be loved

“I love you.” Steve said and Tony reeled back. His feet stumbled, twining around each other like vines and he couldn’t stop his back slamming hard against the wet tiles.

Steve blinked, his bright smile wearing thin, bleeding out until his lips are only pressed tight, grimacing, hurt blue eyes searching.

“Huh,” Tony steadied himself, head spinning lesser and lesser until he could feel the ground under his feet again and he tipped forward, still stumbling, sounding faint as he muttered, “Okay,” low and confused and breathy before he cleared his throat, patted Steve’s damp cheek and exited the shower, bypassing towel in dire need for _space._

_-_

The thing was, if you followed closely what preceded that statement, nothing was staggeringly surprising. But it still threw Tony way off guard that he locked himself in his workshop - a typical unfairly dirty move of his – and tried to run; the effective word being, ‘tried’.

He couldn’t.

No matter how many cars he dismantled, how many new schematics he designed and, pathetically, however much paperwork he got done, his entire head echoed with Steve’s voice and those three decimating words, over and over and worst of it all, he could see that smile he adored so much slip away and that one second fear sparkling in Steve’s too blue eyes and he wished he could have said something better. Done something better than freezing the way he had.

Drawing in a shaky breath, he dropped the wrench heavily onto the work table and stood up. He can’t do this forever, not when he’s running nowhere, feet planted firmly right where he was yesterday, right in front of Steve like they had been for the past few months.

The glass door whooshed open and the first thing he saw was Steve’s large frame curled around his knees, head tipped forth, dozing off on his sketchbook while his blonde hair danced with the draft expelled from his exit.

Steve startled awake just as Tony took a step closer. Looking a little disoriented until his gaze landed on Tony and they locked. Tony took a deep breath before letting his knees buckle and he crouched, hands busy prying the book away from Steve’s lap and pushing his legs apart. He situated himself snuggly between Steve’s knees, back to Steve's front, tipping his head back onto hard planes of chiselled chest and bringing broad hands to lock around his own stomach. Then he closed his eyes and willed himself to breathe.

“I don’t understand.” Steve murmured. Once his own muscles have thawed, his fingers slackened and he’d buried his nose in Tony’s hair. Tony wiggled back closer but when Steve pulled him in, he tensed. The familiar sense of nausea bubbled up in the back of his throat and he forced himself to swallow. Forced himself to relax. Forced himself to mould into Steve.

All the while, Steve rubbed a circle under his reactor, slow, calming pressure over where his diaphragm separated his lungs from his stomach and Tony loved him a little more that he already did.

“You said you love me first.” Steve said lowly, the doubt is there, albeit a thin layer and Tony wished it had never come to exist anyway.

He brought a heavy hand to his mouth and pressed his mouth over the back of it, “I do.” He confirmed, breath hot and ghosting over Steve’s pale Irish skin. He squeezed the graphite stained fingers and kissed the warm palm.

“Then why,” Steve inhaled shakily, a violent shudder inevitably quaking Tony’s body pressed into his and he hugged him tighter, pulled him closer. Inhaled sharply and noisily, nose still buried in Tony’s curls. “Why when _I_ said it, you ran away?”

Tony swallowed, the lining of his oesophagus squeezing and relaxing spasmodically and painfully, but Tony held onto Steve’s hand and told himself this was _it._

No more waiting. If there was a person for him, Steve was probably it because Tony couldn’t think of anyone after. He couldn’t even fathom the _after._

He remembered guiltily when it had once felt the same with Pepper. " _If I couldn't get it right with her, then I can never get it right with anyone."_ He also remembered choking on his tongue when he tried to convey his affection for her.

 _“It’s okay, Tony. That’s what I thought.”_ She had said and she'd moved on.

But not with Steve.

With Steve, it was suspiciously easy. To roll out of bed and see him walking in from his morning jog, a towel around his neck and his shirt damp with sweat. His hair still wet and his smile bright as soon as he saw Tony and Tony had blinked, confusing reality and dream and murmured, “I love you,” low and rasp when Steve stopped to ruffle his hair.

He didn’t blame Steve then. Not when Steve froze too, ran away too – off on a mission for two whole weeks and when he came back, he fucked Tony into the mattress and they never talked about it. But Tony had never minded. It had felt easy, almost _safe_ to love Steve, even more so when Steve _let_ Tony love him. Tony didn't say it again, but all his touches screamed the words. With every press of his fingertips, his heart bled into Steve's skin and Tony found a curious sense of security in it. 

He was ready to give Steve the world, give himself to him, _everything_ , with no expectation for Steve to do the same at all. He loved knowing Steve may not feel the same, and oddly, it felt good rather than scary.

That was two months ago. Now, Tony could only hope Steve spared him that same leniency for fleeing because the very moment he realised that he could be loved the same way, that Steve could be as willing to lay everything for Tony, it was terrifying.

“I’m scared.” He rasped out, clutching onto Steve’s hand like a lifeline and hating himself entirely for it. “I’m not good. You deserve better and when you said that, it felt like I’ve finally scammed you into a trap.”

“What trap?”

Tony shrugged, heart thundering, breath hitching but he played it cool like he did for the paparazzi. “The kind where you love me and you’ll tolerate me clinging onto you so hard until I wear you down and one day, you’ll hate me and I will still love you and you’ll hate that too.”

When Steve didn’t say anything, Tony let one more confession slip out of his rotten chest. “I don’t want you to grow to hate the way I feel for you because I know I cannot stop it,” _ever_ , escaped in silence.

The next breath he pulled was halted when Steve pushed him away, pulled his arms free and turned Tony around so he could look at him. Azure eyes burned blue and fiery, affronted, angry and wild. “What made you think I could stop?” Steve asked, teeth clenching and unclenching, his palms are hot and heavy as they cupped Tony’s cheeks. His inhale trembled as he closed his eyes and pulled Tony in so their foreheads pressed.

The fabric of his t-shirt cinched at his waist, biting sharply but all Tony cared was the dizzying heat of their mingled breaths in that small box Steve carved for them from his hands and their heads and Tony squeezed his own shaky hands over his lap, thumbnails digging into his palms.

“Is that why -,” Steve began and stopped, eyes still shut and words catching. “’S that why you always backed away when I pulled you closer?”

Tony’s jaw locked, tight and painful. He nodded once, tight, feeling cold seep into his bones.

Steve exhaled in a gust, eyes snapping open, the fire less fiery, but still there, molten. “Can I ask you something?”

Tony nodded again and Steve mimicked. “Can you be more clingy?”

Tony jerked away so hard that his neck cricked. Steve’s hands were still pressed against his skin. His gaze softer, coaxing, “Please?” he mouthed whilst Tony looked at him as he was mad.

 _You don’t know what you’re asking_ and _you’ll hate me_ are on the very tip of his tongue. But Steve’s faster, bolder and convincing to the point of it being faulty.

“Try?” He asked, tugging Tony back in, fingers tucking a stray strand of Tony's hair behind his ears as he followed with a press of his mouth where the skin once tickled. “Hug me,” He requested softly, like an instruction but not the kind that was expecting an action per se. Tony did it anyway. “Tighter.” Steve murmured into his skin, pulling him closer and Tony did that too, even if it took a few long seconds of pause and a quelling sense of nausea under his tongue. “See,” Steve whispered. “I don’t hate it. I want it.”

And it might take some time to nail that into Tony’s mind, but Steve never faltered in his efforts. He taught, with patience in his sleeves and fondness in his eyes for Tony to touch again, unafraid. For Tony to stop accepting the cold of the draft when Steve had turned over in his sleep, leaving their bodies apart and Tony learnt to burrow himself back into that empty crook. To take Steve’s arms and circle them around his waist but this time, he’s facing the man, nose to nose and he’s kissing him as he pushed in close, flush into Steve’s wonderful heat.

He learnt to love, unafraid, to not freeze when Steve reached back, when Steve whispered ‘I love you’ into his skin in the middle of sex, to release and let loose and be less afraid of falling. Because Steve instilled that faith in him, that if and when he falls, he’d be caught. Just like Tony knew in his very being that he would for Steve, but insecurity had always been a tricky thing.

If before Steve, Tony felt easy in his security of loving, uncaring of being loved, after Steve, it felt okay to want to be loved too. To not hate himself for ever wanting that pleasure and Steve always made him know how grateful he was for that.


End file.
